


A little chicken

by belladeum



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Ballet, F/M, Fakir being very tender but also very embarrassed, Fakiru Week, Fakiru Week 2013, Fluff, Missing Scene, Pre-Relationship, both have crushes going but don't know how to process this fact, duck just being a cutie patoot like she normally is, sort of? it takes place during second arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:16:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23398336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belladeum/pseuds/belladeum
Summary: Duck sighed and forced her arm down to her side, loose, natural. She wasn’t even the bad kind of nervous. There were no ravens, no gleeful cackling, no swords or ghosts or fire; the fear was mostly the excited kind. But it was still fear. Duck watched as Fakir sunk onto one knee and prompted her to lift her foot as he slipped on the first shoe. It was really embarrassing – and a little ticklish – and she wasn’t sure whetherthatwas adding to the flutter in her tummy, or if it was just because now she was wearing her pointe shoes. These were the real deal.Duck tries calm her nerves wearing her very own pointe shoes for the first time. || Reupload/Revamp. Written for Fakiru Week 2013, prompt: Yellow ||
Relationships: Ahiru | Duck/Fakir (Princess Tutu)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 52





	A little chicken

Through the window, dusted with a glossy layer of early-morning mist, Duck was a hazy silhouette. Alone in the ballet studio she breathed in and out, short shaky bursts that did little to steel her nerves, and stared in the mirror. In the low, pearly light her lithe form trembled – not entirely due to the chill. She frowned. She was not fond of frowning, since she knew practising positive behaviours actually made you happier and she needed all the positivity she could get, but she couldn’t help it. She wasn’t even sure why she was so worried – this wasn’t a big deal. She pinched a section of her pale pink tights between her fingers, pulled it away and then let it snap back against her legs in an attempt to occupy the hand not gripping onto the bar. She shouldn’t fidget. It wasn’t at all ballerina-like.

Duck sighed and forced her arm down to her side, loose, natural. She wasn’t even the bad kind of nervous. There were no ravens, no gleeful cackling, no swords or ghosts or fire; the fear was mostly the excited kind. But it was still fear.  She  _ really _ didn’t want to be known as the only ballet dancer who couldn’t do this. It was bad enough she was behind. At some point, she supposed, she’d no longer become Princess Tutu, and at that point she’d need to be able to dance fully of her own will. She wanted to dance in her own way, her style.

She grumbled and jerked straight as the door to the studio opened. The whole point of her coming here before class started was to  _ avoid _ the mockery of her classmates seeing her here practising. Again. Not that she had done any of that yet. She looked up in the mirror where she could see the intruder’s reflection.

“Fakir!” She beamed and spun on the balls of her feet. “What are you doing here?”

“I had a feeling this is where you’d be,” he replied. “You forgot something.” He held up a pair of shoes in his hand.

Duck gawped. No way! She looked frantically about herself as he approached and saw that indeed, she'd left her bag (and shoes) behind. She couldn’t believe it. Sneaking out of her dorms at six in the morning and she’d forgotten to bring the very thing she was practising. Oh, what a scatterbrain!

She managed not to let her internal derision show – at least, not too much – and snatched the shoes away from Fakir with reddened hands. Or rather, she attempted to, but Fakir held them back just out of reach and she grumbled at him.

“You ready, then?” he asked. Duck fell silent, contemplative. Stared at her feet. The shoes Fakir held were new and a long time coming, beautiful pink satin like soft seashells in his hands. Unworn they looked frail, and Duck worried that if she were to put them on they’d splinter like glass. They were sized for her, but surely they wouldn’t fit. She’d practically begged Mr Cat for them, showing time and time again that she was ready, that she’d put the work in to earn them, and now that they were hers, well…

“What’s wrong?” Fakir said. She could hear the frown in his voice. “You’ve done a lot of practice with the  _ demi-pointe _ shoes. I thought you were going to try with the  _ proper  _ shoes?”

“I know but…” Duck sighed. “I’m just kind of nervous.”

“That’s stupid. Don’t be.”

He sunk onto one knee and prompted her to lift her foot as he slipped on the first shoe, his hands supporting her ankle tenderly. Duck watched as he repeated the motion with the other shoe, feeling the warmth of his hands against her leg, only separated by an imperceptible layer of nylon. She blinked and felt her face warm as he worked silently to tie the ribbons around her foot, not missing the way he bowed his head as if to feel better the heat of her skin against his face, and the way he held onto her calf just a little longer than he really needed to as he led her other foot up onto his knee to finish tying that shoe also. It was really embarrassing – and a little ticklish – and she wasn’t sure whether  _ that _ was adding to the flutter in her tummy, or if it was just because now she was wearing her  _ pointe _ shoes. These were the real deal.

She wanted to wriggle her toes when he finally stood, surveying her with a critical eye and letting a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, but she didn’t and instead laughed, a high and nervous sound.

He scoffed. “Don’t be such a chicken, little duck.”

She looked at him with a blanched face. “Quack,” she said, dully.

Fakir chuckled at that, a hand creeping to his lips as if ready to stifle growing laughter. Okay, good, he was distracted for a moment. Duck took a breath, went onto her tiptoes, trembled and then fell back, clutching the bar for support. Her breath left her in a huff. She glanced to Fakir – he was looking at her with quiet focus. Her face fell.

“Fakir! I’m just never going to be able to do it!” She kept trying but even with the  _ demi-pointe _ shoes she was no good. Duck just felt miserable thinking about how bad she was at this. Why did she even try going  _ en pointe_? She’d let Fakir sew in her ribbons properly just because she couldn’t co-ordinate her fingers and thumb, and he may have appeared begrudging but clearly he didn’t mind if he went ahead and did so, and here she was disappointing him. After all that, even with the proper shoes, she simply couldn’t.

“You’re not really trying though,” he said. Duck did a double-take. How horrible!

“Hey, that’s mean! I am too!”

“Yellow-belly.”

“Don’t make fun of me.” Duck stamped her foot and pouted.

“I’m right, though. You’re holding yourself back. Why? There’s literally nothing to be scared of here.”

“Easy for you to say,” she grumbled. Then, without it really processing, she continued. “This is a really big deal for me. You’ve probably never sucked at things before, Mr Smartypants, and I have and I don’t always wanna be behind! I’ve done all this practice and I can’t do it. I may as well give up.”

Fakir stilled. “Why do you think I practice writing?”

“Huh?”

“I’m still getting the hang of how to fully utilise my powers. So I keep practising.” Oh, that’s right. Of course he knew about that struggle. “There’s nothing to be scared of if  _ you _ mess up at first. That’s not the case for me; there’s a lot at stake.”

He didn’t need to tell her that. Duck pouted and berated herself, fist knocking harmlessly against her thigh as she tried to get the mantra in her head. She wasn’t in this alone. And of course Fakir had a lot more pressure to do well than she did. But still…

“But whether you’re good at dancing or not doesn’t matter. It does for me. In the end, well…” She sighed.

“H-hey,” Fakir said. She looked to him. He’d shrunk back, wasn’t meeting her eyes fully, and his pose was all stiff and awkward, that way he acted when he was a little embarrassed. “You can do this, alright? You’re a dancer. Doesn’t matter if it takes you forever.”

“I’m not the real dancer.”

Fakir paused. Then, in a way that was rare but not entirely uncharacteristic of him, he softened. “Is that what you’re scared of? That you can’t compare to Tutu or you’ll never be able to dance like that?”

Duck nodded. “Well, it’s not exactly like that. I mean, I want to find my own way of dancing. But I’m just a duck, y’know? And despite all my practice I’m still behind. I just think—”

“What if I can’t ever do it?”

She looked up. How had he read her thoughts like that?

Of course… Fakir must probably think that too, sometimes. And he’d been so scared when she first asked him to write a story that could save Mytho. Yet he’d gotten over that fear. She couldn’t give up. Of course she could dance as Tutu, everyone saw that, but she had to believe she was good enough without that magic. She shouldn’t give up. Positive attitude – she had to believe she could do this.

“Idiot. Princess Tutu is… She’s everything you can and will be. It’s hard to do but you’ll manage. Now try again.” And then he had to say something like that!

Duck smiled. Fakir tried to put up that tough-guy front but he really was sweet. She felt those butterflies return again to tickle her insides, but this time it felt warm and nice.

“Thanks Fakir,” she said, and he spluttered. It was strange, normally he only flushed like that when she was about to turn back into a girl again. She looked down – just to be sure her earlier quacking hadn’t transformed her, but she still saw a human girl in her leotard and  _ pointe _ shoes.

She rose again, her body stretched out as if reaching to the high ceiling, and she raised her arms into third position before she felt her knees ache and her toes stab with pain, and she staggered back onto flat feet.

“I’m going to keep falling,” she muttered.

Fakir hummed, then, quite artificially clearing his throat, he lapsed back into that awkward facing-sideways-and-not-looking-at-her pose.

“If you’re worried about that… I can stand behind you so you won’t fall. I’ll keep you steady.”

Duck couldn’t think of what to say. She wasn’t expecting that. It made her feel nervous in a weird, different, entirely new way. But she nodded and Fakir moved behind her, one hand on the bar to mimic her. Could Fakir go  _ en pointe _ ? She didn’t know, but it was reassuring to have him there. Duck relaxed and tried again.

He didn’t speak, but placed his hands at her waist lightly to assure her, but that only increased her fluster. She barely even lifted her heels off the floor before returning to her huddled stance with a small whimper of annoyance and pain. She inhaled deeply and tried, and failed, yet again, and became increasingly disgruntled. Why couldn’t she just do it? This was nothing to be scared about! If she didn’t even try all that was left was disappointment, so better to do it, right?

Right…?

She felt Fakir’s arms brush her side gently. Then, a low and vaguely offensive clucking sound came from behind her, and she realised that it was  _ Fakir _ impersonating a chicken. She whipped her head round and stuck out her tongue. Meanie. He chuckled.

“Come on, try for a little longer.”

She nodded and, keeping her right hand steady on the bar she went onto her toes, immediately feeling her muscles tighten with the effort. Fakir counted under his breath as she held her position for a few seconds, distancing his touch so that he was not supporting her small weight at all but just steadying her, and for just a moment his hand left her waist entirely before she returned to the resting position with a sigh. She felt him take hold of her once again, and the weight of his hands curving into her body was comforting. She smiled to herself. She could do this.

Needing no more encouragement, she let her body simply rise, as if she were about to take flight. How did it feel when Princess Tutu did this? Effortless, not real, almost, but it didn’t matter because she was Duck, and she was going to do this. She hesitated to move her arms upward, keeping them to her sides to aid her balance, and was glad when a few seconds became nearly ten as she fought to push her limit. This… wasn’t so bad. She almost laughed. Why had she been so scared of this? Fakir had been right, she could do this, and even if she couldn’t, it wasn’t the end of the world. Well, maybe for her dancing, but… No! Stay focussed. Duck grimaced and frowned, eyes closed and legs aching in protest. Despite her shortcomings in class Mr Cat had given her these shoes after seeing her practice so much, and despite lagging behind Pique and Lilie had always cheered her on, and despite knowing she was a duck Fakir was here with her, and wasn’t comparing her to Tutu or being mean, not like he used to. He never saw her as anything but a girl. They all thought she could do this.

Duck made a small pained sound as she let her concentration slip and trembled, hands curled into fists before she spoke with a slightly strained breath. “Fakir, I’ll try by myself now.” She could even try raising her arms again, see if she could keep her balance changing positions. She looked round so she could see him out of the corner of her eyes.

He smirked at her, arms folded, but there was a gentle kindness in his eyes as he looked at how hard she was trying. “I let you go a while ago.”

“Huh?” Her eyes widened and she looked down to her feet, all but the tips of her toes connected to the tiled flooring. No way!

She wailed, and the distressed, surprised quack echoed in the ballet studio only moments before an ungainly thump. Through the perspiration coating the window, only Fakir’s snickering form could be seen, with a duck running about his feet in a dazed flutter.

**Author's Note:**

> I initially uploaded this in 2013 for Fakiru Week on my writing tumblr. I decided to revamp it and re-upload it, so it's not identical to the original but the same tone and plot. I'll probably do more Fakiru Week revamps cause this ship cute. And also some of the stuff I wrote back then is actually kinda funny.


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